//------------------------------// // Chapter: 1 // Story: Appearances // by Chapter 13 //------------------------------// Appearances By: Chapter: 13 “I’m sorry, kid, but there is no way you’re over 21.” It was another Saturday, and with it brought the usual horde of kids who tried, in vain, to make it into the club. I wasn’t lenient with underage drinking. Thankfully, it was something I was glad both me and my boss agreed with. “What the hell, man! See the birth date on the I.D?” the scruffy teen said as he pointed to the mentioned item. “It says I’m 21, so you have to let me in!” I sighed, then shake my head. “Look, kid, I don’t care what the I.D says; if I think you’re too young, then you ain’t getting in, understand? This is a private establishment, not a community college.” The kid looked like he’s going to reply, but only let out a loud huff and stomped away. I shook my head at the display and let out a soft chuckle. “Will they ever learn?” I mumble to myself, then return my attention to my post. Other than this kid, and a few prior, the night had been pretty uneventful, up to now. The club received a steady stream of legal patrons, while none of them had, as of yet, warranted a forceful removal. I liked days like these, as they didn’t require me throw some drunken jackass out into the nearest snowdrift. As fun as it may sound, it gets old really fast. It was the middle of winter and the city of Boston. The temperature was low and dropped even lower every time the wind hit the frigid ocean, while piles of snow lined the streets and alleys where the herd of plow trucks couldn’t reach. It was uncomfortable, for most, but, if you grew up here, you learned to live with it. A few extra layers was always all I needed when the temperature dropped to god-awful level. That was the one thing that the deserts I served in couldn't take that out of me. Us Bostonians are a stubborn bunch. The door to the club swung open and I turned to see my boss poke his ginger head out the small opening. “Yo, Alex!” he screamed in my direction, even though I was close enough to hear him whisper. “I got some asshat in here I need you to toss—fuckin’ idiot is making a fool of himself and scaring off the other patrons.” I gave him a curt nod, then followed him inside. When I walked through the front door, I was instantly assaulted by a practical wave of sound. Wubs, as the house DJ had explained. The club thumped with a practical heartbeat, the patrons inside grinning and dancing in almost the same rhythm. The club itself wasn’t large, being basically an oversize bar with a DJ booth, but it still managed to draw a handsome crowd. “The fuckin’ pissa’s over 'ere,” my boss said, then points towards the direction of the offender. I looked in the direction he was pointing, and soon spotted the offender he was referring too. The ‘asshat’ was currently stumbling around the side of the dance floor near the booths, talking to some females who, judging by their reactions, wanted him gone just as much as my boss. I turned to my redheaded employer. “I got him,” I said plainly. He nodded in response. “See to it you do—I don’t want that rat muckin’ up me business.” “Any of you ladies want to… to get with a real man?” the drunk fool said, using almost all of his remaining cognitive ability to remain upright. The group of three females in the booth rolled their eyes. “As if, you freak,” replied one from the group. He looked like he was about to reply, but it was at this time I made my presence known. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to come with me,” I say in a calm voice, hoping that I can get him to leave without violence. I always preferred when it didn't have to turn violent. The guy turns to me. “Hey… leave me alone to my fun, will you?” I shake my head. “Sir, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” He raised an eyebrow at me, then lets out a slurred chuckle. “I’m not going anywhere, thank you very much!” I sigh. “Very well,” I say, then reach over and grab the fool by the back of his jacket and begin to lead him away. “Hey!” he screamed when his brain registered that he’s being dragged, then whips his body around and breaks free from my grasp. “I thought I told you that I wasn’t going anywhere!” I don’t respond and go to grab him again, but he pushes my arm away and stumbles back. “Hey, don’t touch me!” he cried out, then reached into his jacket and pulled out a knife. He flicked open the moderately sized blade and pointed it at me. Switchblade. Guy's lucky he didn't cut his junk off—never trust a knife without a lock. “I’m warning you!” The patrons who had been watching the display either scream or freak out when they notice the knife. I don’t. I knew better. In his state, he was more likely to hurt himself than anyone else. “Sir, put down the knife,” I say calmly, not wanting to provoke him. “Don’t call me ‘sir’, you fucking prick!” he said, then lunged forward, his knife pointed directly at my chest. It was easy to simply grab his wrist. No need for anything fancy. I lift his hand above his head at an awkward angle and sent my free hand into his elbow. It connected with an audible ‘crack!’, followed by a scream of pain as the knife clattered to the floor. Maybe it was a bit much, but I didn't want to risk anything. The place was too crowded to take chances. “You broke my fuckin’ elbow, you asshole!” he screamed as he fell to the ground, clutching his now broken appendage. To be honest, I was impressed that he could still speak. Must've been drunker then I thought. I waste no time and picked up the knife from the floor. I collapse it and put it in my back pocket. Still don't trust lock-less blades. I then pick up the wounded idiot by his shoulders and dragged him outside. I can hear cheers of applause as I drag him outside, along with some very Boston words for how much of an idiot this guy was. They were always very creative. I ignore them, though. I have a job to do. Once out the door, I drag screaming man across the street and to the neighboring sidewalk before dropping him on the ground. “Stay,” I commanded in a tone that demanded no response. He continued to scream, but didn’t make any attempts to go move. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone and called the police, telling them to pick up the idiot that tried to stab me. I waited next to him until they got here, made my statement, gave them his knife, then watched as they drove away with him in the back. You'd think there'd be more to the story about breaking a man's elbow, but there really wasn't. The police knew me. Not as a friend, but about my service. They never asked questions beyond what was standard. Kept everything formal. I helped them fill their drunk tank, after all. Besides that, I'd get some salutes every once in a while, or just a thank you. I'd smile and thank them for keeping the homefront safe. They didn't know war, but they knew that there was more evil in the world then most civi's. I respected them for that, and they respected me. Once everything was taken care of, I walked back into the club to be greeted by my boss outside. “Man, I gotta thank you for this one,” he said with an appreciative smile. “Didn’t know he was hiding a knife, so I’m sure glad I had you deal with ‘em.” He chuckled. "Might have to start having you pat people down." It wasn't a bad idea, but it was overkill. I shake my head. “It’s what you pay me for, Pat.” He smirks, then slaps his hand into my back. “That I do, my friend! And you’ve be earnin’ every cent of yer pay!” I can’t help but chuckle. “You gonna offer me the usual scotch as my ‘bonus’? The one that I always refuse?” Pat breaks out laughing and struggles to stay upright. “Y’know, I find it hard to believe you never take me up on that, lad? I mean, I never asked, but you got something against the god’s water?” “No,” I say. “Just don’t like drinking on the job is all.” It was partially the truth, but the real answer was more simpler then that: I didn’t like being in a state I couldn’t control. I had enough problems as it was. My boss smiles, then pats me on the back again. “Lord, where did I find you?” he announced with another laugh. “Well, yer shift is endin’ in a little bit, but I’ll let you go a little early. I don’t believe anyone’s gonna try anythin’ after seeing what you did to the other guy.” I was hesitant to accept, but I also didn’t want to offend the guy. “Thanks, Pat,” I say, then turn to walk off. “I’ll be back at the usual hour.” The irishman waved me off as I head off down the street, then disappears back into the club. He was a good boss, if a bit eccentric, but he paid well enough. As I walked down the street, I looked up and got a good view of the sky. Though the many lights from the busy city polluted the sky, a few stars still shone through the masking glow. I let out a soft smile at the sight, finding an odd comfort at the sight. The streets of South Boston, or Southey, were usually vacant at this time of night, and today was no exception. Being an older city, it’s basic layout didn’t really allow for much a lot of traffic. That, accompanied with the relatively small size, made walking one of the main sources of transportation. As such, especially in this area, the city remained oddly quiet, save for the distant roar from the more populated part of the city. After a short walk down the vacant streets, I arrived at my apartment building. It was a modest complex, but still showed it’s age like everything else in Southey. I pushed open the door and headed up two flights of stairs to my apartment. The floor I was in was almost completely vacant, save for a neighbor a few doors down. She was a nice elderly lady who would often invite me over for tea. I wasn't a fan, but I knew she asked because she was lonely, so I usually accepted. I pulled out my keys from my jacket pocket then pushed open the door, only to pause halfway into the threshold. The lights were out, as I always left them, so I couldn’t see anything past what was illuminated by the hallway light, but I could already feel that something wasn’t right. Call it paranoia or the result of five years of service, but I sometimes got a feeling when something wasn’t right, and I always listened to it. I slowly moved the rest of the way into my dark apartment and closed the door quietly behind me. I opened the cabinet next to the entrance and pulled out my spare 9mm. I slide in a mag with a soft click!, then flip off the safety and begin to slowly walk deeper into my apartment. My apartment itself wasn't anything special, only consisting of two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. The front door lead directly into living room, and a quick scan through the dimly lit area revealed nothing out of the ordinary. I didn't have much; basic furniture and only the necessary living materials. My days in service had taught me to live light, but also to be neat. I kept my apartment spotless, more out of habit than anything. The next room I checked was the kitchen. To my surprise, the first thing I noticed was that my refrigerator was wide open. Strange, I thought, knowing fully well that it wasn't because of me. I closed it without looking inside before heading down the small hallways to the rest of the apartment. The bathroom was a mess; all my stuff that had been neatly laid out on the sink now lay on the floor, while the the remnants of a puddle lay next to a soaking wet towel. I cleared my bedroom, spotting nothing out of the ordinary, then made my way quietly to the remaining room: my guest room. Now, I rarely went into said room, using it mainly for storage, so to find the door slightly ajar was the first thing to put me on edge. I slowly made my way up to the door and pressed my ear against it, listening to what lay beyond. I didn't hear anything, but I didn't let my guard down. I took a deep breath, then turned and kick the door forwards. I entered weapon first, pointing it around the room as I quickly searched it. To my relief, I spotted nothing. “Thank god,” I mumbled as I flip the safety and tuck the 9mm into the back of my jeans. Since I saw no signs of forced entrance, I figured that the mess and fridge probably came from Mrs. Murphy, my elderly neighbor. I had given her a spare key to my house just incase I got locked out, or if she needed anything. Gonna have to talk to her about that, I thought to myself, making a mental note to do this later. I turned around, about to close the door when a thought came to mind. I re entered the room and went straight to the piles of boxes I had laid out on top of the single bed. This was where I kept all that remained of my military career; every once in awhile I would wander inside to browse through what remained of that part of my life. I opened the first box and pulled out a few loose photographs. In them, I saw myself in uniform, smiling at my first day of BUZZ (the training program I had to attend to become a marine). The rest of the pictures showed a slow decrease in that smile as they broke me, both in body and mind. By the end, all that was left was a hollow expression. I put the pictures back and moved onto the next box. This one held the little trinkets and other items I had collected over the years from places I visited. They were a good keepsake, but their meaning had faded. I moved this one aside and opened one more box. This one held my awards. Most of them were commendations and achievements, the only notable one being my Purple Heart for getting wounded in battle. People always said that I should be proud of them, but I never really had that feeling—all they were was hunks of shaped metal that weighed down my uniform. I moved this box aside with the others and grabbed the last one of interest. The rest were filled with clothes and stuff I didn't really have a need for, but also could bring myself to throw away. Inside this final box was where I kept the items that I used to remember the brothers I had lost in combat. Whether it was a picture or something else of significance, they all held the highest value of anything I owned. I believed that, if you remembered someone, they could never truly die. But, remembering the dead took it’s toll on the living, especially since this box was the largest in the entire room. I looked at the items inside of the box for a little bit longer, then carefully folded back the lid and returned everything back to it’s proper place. Once finished, I turned to walk of the room, only to trip due to my distracted mind. I caught myself on the door to the sliding closet before I could fall onto my face, but almost immediately jumped away and pulled back out my 9mm and pointed it at the door. As soon as I had made contact with the door, the sound of something scrambling in the closet beyond had caught my ears. “Who’s there?!” I announced, racking back the slide to add emphasis to my words. To my displeasure, I received no response. The next few minutes were met with silence, to which I used to plan my next course of action. Since they hadn’t tried to shot blindly through the door, I figured that whoever it was most likely wasn’t armed, which made my choice easier. “Come out with your hands up and I guarantee I will not harm you.” There was another pause in which nothing happened. I sighed in relief, knowing that this most likely meant one thing: they were scared. Anyone with ill intent would have acted by now, as only the frightened chose to hide. Carefully, I inched forward until I could get one hand on the handle of the door. With a deep breath, I threw open the door and took a step back, my 9mm at the ready. I looked into the closet, only to blink a few times to make sure I was seeing things correctly. “What the hell…?” I muttered softly, my gun faltering slightly. Inside my closet was the strangest thing I had ever seen: a small, white horse. It was currently curled up in a tight ball, it’s front and rear… hooves? pulled tightly against its cartoonishly proportioned form while it shook violently. Large, blood red eyes stared back up at me with pure terror, while a large, spiral… wait, horn? What the fuck is this thing? I thought, then set aside my 9mm on the bed behind me. For a good while, neither me nor the thing moved--the creature just shook and looked up at me with those eyes. It was strange, though, as I didn’t feel like I was looking into the eyes of a scared animal, but of a... human? I collected myself from the initial shock, then lowered myself slowly, as to not make myself look threatening, then slowly inched forwards. Like it or not, I was going to have to catch this… thing eventually, as it belonged somewhere that was in my closet. I had worked with dogs before, and even had a few of my own when I was a kid, so I knew a bit about approaching a frightened animal. As I inched forwards, I made sure to keep track of the creature’s horn, as it looked as if it could do some major damage if I wasn’t careful. At this point, I was only a foot or so away from the creature. It cowered and shook, but didn’t look like it was going to attack. I got my feet under me, the pounced forward. The first thing I grabbed was the horn, then I flipped it over and used my weight to pin it down. “Don’t hurt me!” My eyes went wide and I froze. I could feel the creature squirm and try to get free, but what unsettled me was the fact that I heard those words be repeated over and over again. “Don’t hurt me! Don’t hurt me! Don’t hurt me!” I jumped off the creature and scrambled backward until I felt myself hit the foreboard of the bed. The creature responded immediately by retreating back into the closet and return to is frightening ball form. “D-did you just talk?!” I found myself saying. “Please, don’t eat me! Trust me, I taste horrible! Trust me!” I heard the creature speak once again, to which sent me right back to my initial shock. I shook my head, then rose to my feet. The creature continued to cower, but I tried to ignore it this time. I paced back and forth, avoiding the sight of the creature. I had experienced hallucinations before, but they had just been flashes of events I had encountered in combat. The doctors had told me that they were common for patients with PTSD, and that they would eventually fade with time. This wasn’t like those. I stopped pacing and looked back at the creature, who looked just as scared as ever. The rational part of my mind screamed at me to dial 911 and get to a hospital, while the other half wanted to see what would happen. Somehow, the irrational part won out. “Don’t worry,” I say in the calmest way I can. “I’m not going to hurt you.” The creature laughs. “Oh, yeah, right! You already tackled me to the fucking ground!” I flinched. “Yeah, I know… but…” I took a deep breath. “You’re a talking horse.” The creature ceased to shutter, then raised a curious eyebrow. “Yeah… and you’re a… a…” It looked me up and down. “What the hell are you, anyways?” “I’m a human.” “Yeah, that,” it said, then lifted itself up to a seated position. “Look… I don’t. I mean… Uh…” It scratched its head and looked around. “I’m a little lost.” I didn’t know how, but I couldn’t help but laugh at that. It seemed to get mad at me for this. “Hey! Don’t laugh at me!” it says with a pout, then crosses it’s hooves. I calm down enough to speak. “Don’t worry, I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at the fact that I’m talking to a horned horse, and have apparently gone mad!” “Horned horse? Oh! You mean unicorn, right?” Oh, god, it’s a fucking little girls fantasy creature! I thought, that’s it, I’m out of here. I looked at the creature one last time, stood up, grabbed my gun, then walked out of the room. “Hey, where the hell you going?!” I walked back over to the front door and put my 9mm back where it belonged, then hung up my jacket and took off my shoes. The creature… unicorn walked up next to me and gave me a confused expression, but I ignored it completely. I proceeded to take off my boots, place them next to the door, and then walk over to my couch and flop onto it. The creature followed, then sat itself right next to the side of the couch. “Are you ignoring me?” “Yes,” I mutter. The creature tilted its head. “Why?” “Because you aren’t real.” “What do you mean I’m not real?!” It screams back at me. “I’m right here! See, look!” The creature pokes me with it’s hoof. “Feel that?” I groaned, then shifted from my back to a seated position. I stared down the creature, who cowered slightly. “Look! There is no such thing as talking… well, anything other the humans, okay? Since you aren’t a human, and you are talking, you aren’t real,” I said, then added, “Plus, unicorn’s ain’t real!” “Okay…” it says, then scratches its head. “Uh… just a quick question?” “Yes?” “Where… where am I?” “Planet earth. America. Massachusetts. Boston. Southey... My living room.” “Oh, now that explains a lot!” My eye twitched. “What?!” I scream. “What explains, what?!” “Well, I’m from Equestria, which isn’t, uh… here?” I facepalm. “Okay, okay! If I believe you to be real, and I haven’t had a psychotic break, then what are you doing here? How did you get from… Equestria, to here?” The creature opens its mouth to speak, then closes it’s mouth. “Y’know what, I don’t know… I went home, ate a lot of junk food, passed out on my couch, then woke up in your bathroom.” “What?” I deadpanned. The creature raised its hands, er... hooves innocently. “Hey, it makes as much sense to me as it does to you! If you haven’t noticed, you just have to deal with me, while I’m stuck here.” She pauses. “Actually, how do I know that you’re not just my imagination?” I go to respond, but stop myself. She was right… I shook my head. “Okay, okay… okay…” I got up, then began to pace again. “Okay… Okay…” “Okay?” “Okay!” I scream, then calm myself down. “Look, this is kind a stressful thing, right now.” The unicorn laughs. “You’re telling me?” it says. “You weren’t the one tackled to the ground by some strange creature after waking in a fucking bathtub, hmm???” I growled. “Look, I’m sorry about that, but I still have no way of knowing if you’re real or not.” “But, I poked you!” “Yes, but even that can be my mind playing tricks on me,” I say, then shake my head. “Ugh, what the hell is going on?!” “Eh, whatever…” The creature shruged, then walks off. I raise an eyebrow. “Where are you going?” “Getting something to eat, I’m starving!” My eye twitched. After some loud banging, the creature walks back with a box of Poptarts held in… oh, for fucks sake! “How are you doing that?” I ask, pointing to the floating box. “I don’t know. It’s magic, I guess.” The unicorn shrugs. “Never really questioned it.” I take a deep breath, then smack my hands into my face. “What’s going on with me…” I mutter, my head buried in my hands. I feel the couch depress as the unicorn sits next to me. “There there,” it says, then pats my back. “It’ll be okay.” I hear her take a bite out of one of my poptarts. “Do yoth wanna talk abouth it?” she asks, her mouth still full. “No, that would be as helpful as an addict talking to a dealer about quitting,” I say plainly. A poptart floats in front of my vision. “You want one?” I hear it ask. I sigh, then pick the processed pastry from the air. I take a bite, then wait ‘til I finish chewing to talk. “Hey, what is your name, anyways?” I ask, tired of referring to the creature as ‘it’ or ‘the creature’. The unicorn held out a hoof. “Name’s Vinyl, Vinyl Scratch!” After a second of pondering how the fuck I would shake her hoof, I decide to just bump it. “Alex.” Vinyl smiled back at he, then returned to eating her stolen pastry. For the first time since I had first seen the strange white pony, I began to relax. If she was real, she appeared to pose as no harm. And if she wasn’t… well, I currently had no way of knowing. I toyed with the idea of asking the neighbors if they too saw the talking quadruped, but was quick to drop it when I realized that both outcomes would end badly; they would freak out and possibly harm the creature or believe me to be crazy. I wasn’t the best with people, so I doubted I would be able to control either situation. I let out a long sigh, then laid my head back. The pony. er… Vinyl, was quick to notice this. “Hey, you alright?” She asked as she looked at me with concern. I took another deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I don’t know,” I said, then pressed my hands into my face. “This is just a lot to process, okay?” “Yeah, I can understand that.” Vinyl shrugged, then frowned when she noticed that her box was empty. “Crap,” she muttered, then turned to me. “You got any more?” I thought for a second, then shook my head. “No, I think that was the last one… sorry.” “Damn,” Vinyl sighs, then throws the box behind the couch with a sigh. I look to her in annoyance, to which she raised an eyebrow. “What?” She asked innocently. “Trash belongs in the trash,” I begin scoldingly. “You probably grew up in a barn, but here we take care of where we live.” “Wow... now that’s racist,” she mutters, to which my eye twitches. I groan, then push myself off up from the couch and walk over to the empty box. “If you’re going to stay here, the least you can do is clean up after yourself,” I say as I break down the box, then place it with the rest of my recycling in the kitchen. “You mean I can stay?” I walk back over to the couch, but instead sit down on the small armchair next to it. “Do I have a choice?” I exclaim with a sigh. “No matter what you are I’m still going to be stuck with you.” I shifted in my seat. “The way I see it: one of two things are happening. One, I am having a psychological break, which is highly possible, or two, you are actually here. Either or, I'm still stuck with you.” Vinyl raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Am I, like, stuck here?” “In a matter of speaking, yes.” “Why the hell is that?” she asks in a huff. “Do you just not want to share me with the rest of your world?” I gently shake my head. “Actually, I’d like nothing better to be rid of you forever.” I sigh. “Look, you are something foreign and new to this world, as far as I know, and us humans don’t have the best track record when dealing with creatures or people we don’t understand. We get frightened, and usually react aggressively. You’d either be destroyed or experimented on.” The pony’s eyes went wide as she processed what I told her, and soon I noticed her shaking like she had when I first saw her. “O-okay,” Vinyl stuttered out. “You sure about that?” “Yes.” She gulps, then looks at me questionably. “And… and you wouldn’t do that to me, right? Destroy me or… or rip me apart?” I shake my head. “Don’t worry, I have no intention of doing anything of the sort,” I begin, only to let out a soft chuckle. “God...at this point I hope you’re real.” “W-why’s that?” “Because, if you aren’t, then I am pretty messed up in the head right now and I really don’t need that.” Vinyl seemed to relax at this. Well, she stopped shaking, at least. “So… what now?” she asks. I shrug. “Well, I’m going to move some of my boxes so you can have a bed to lay on, then I’m going to take a few aspirin and fall asleep on the couch.” I rise from my seat and head over towards the guest bedroom. “At this point, I’m done with trying to understand this. If you’re still here in the morning, you’re real. If not, I’m going to therapy.” The pony may have responded, but I ignored her as I walked into my spare bedroom. Looking over the place in the perspective that someone… well, something was going to live here made me see the usually empty room in a new light. I started to move the boxed from the bed over to the closet and put what I could in there, while leaving what remained just outside of it. I remade the bed, more out of habit, then took a step back and observed my work. “Eh, good enough,” I mumbled, then headed out of the room to check on my ‘guest’. To my disappointment, I found her still in the living room, having wandered from the couch over my record players. I walked up to Vinyl, who was looking through my extensive record collection. She goes to place a hoof on one of them, but I quickly smack it away. “Yo, man, what the hell?!” she exclaims, holding her hoof as if I’d broken it. “Don't touch,” I say plainly. “They’re old and valuable. Don't. Touch.” “Whatever,” Vinyl snorts. “What else do you have for music?” I raise an eyebrow. “You… You like music?” “Yeah…” She says plainly. “Why wouldn't I?” “Well…” I begin, then pause. “I don't know, actually.” I shrug. “Anyways, I’ve got a lot, actually. Here, follow me,” I say, motioning for the pony to follow as I head towards my room. Once inside, I grab my headphones from besides my bed and my media played that was connected to it. “Well… not sure how you’d be able to use it with your…” I trailed off when the pony plucked the MP3 player and headphones from my hands with her… Magic, then walked off back into the living room. “Thanks!” was all she said as she walked off. I stood there for a second, shocked, then snapped out of my stupor. “Hey!” I scream after Vinyl, who is already comfortable perched herself on the couch. “Don't you need me to show you how to use it?” The pony removed one headset from her ear (which already sit on her head at an awkward angle since they weren't made for her shaped head) and looks up at me. “Nah, I’m good. It's not much different than mine back home. A little harder to interface with, but it still works.” I go to respond, but, instead, just shake my head. “Whatever,” I mumble, then let out a soft yawn. I smack my lips, then look towards the kitchen clock. Four in the morning? Shit, I need to get to bed. I turn to Vinyl, who is currently bobbing her head from her position on the couch. I go to speak, but pause when I realize she probably wouldn’t hear me. Huh, so that's how it feels like? I think, finally realizing why people always got pissed at me when I tuned out the world with music. Little known fact about myself, but I’m an audiophile. Can't make music to save my life, but I sure love listening to it. I walk over to the pony and pluck her headphones off. “Hey!” she screams in protest. “I was listening to that!” I ignore her. “Look, I’m heading to bed,” I begin, with a well timed yawn. “Bathroom is there.” I point to it. “Your room is there.” I point to the guest room. “You know where the kitchen is, andIi’ll be sleeping in that room,” I finish, pointing to my room. “Don't break anything and don't answer the door if anyone knocks—just get me. Besides that: good night, and I hope I don't see you in the morning.” The pony snatches back her headphones. “Goodnight then, asshole.” I ignored the comment, as I knew my statement may have been tasteless, but it was true. If I didn't see that oddly proportioned horse with a horn in the morning: I would be a happy man. I walked over to my bathroom, only to grown when I instantly noticed the mess that I had yet to clean up. Mentally, I debated turning around and making my house guest clean up her own mess… I sighed, then leaned down and collected the loose items on the floor. “Stupid unicorn,” I mumbled to myself as I returned everything to it’s proper place. Once everything was in it’s proper place, I let out a soft smile, then looked up at the mirror. My smile instantly fell. The mirror held a reflection, but it was not one I recognized. Many years ago: I would have seen a bright, carefree kid with an irrational sense of optimism. Now… now all I saw was a tired, worn out veteran who had his sense of optimism crushed as he was forced to fight the devils that walked this earth. I turn on the sink and quickly splash some cold water into my face. In my frenzy, I end up getting more on my shirt then on my face. I grumble, then take off the wet article of clothing. I throw it aside, then return my gaze to mirror. I see the image of a desert landscape, with an old friend standing right by my side. “IED! Get down!” My eyes go wide as I dive out of the way, only to smash into a neighboring wall. My heart pounds and my breaths quicken. My head darts around the room like a prairie dog as I search for my wounded friend. All I see is my own bathroom. I slam shut my eyes, then take a deep breath. Slowly, I calm myself, using the breathing exercises the doctor had recommended. I didn't know how long it took, but eventually my heart returned to normal and my breathing steadied. Keep it together, Alex, I thought as I slowly rose to my feet. I inched over to the sink, then hesitantly looked into the mirror. I let out a sigh of relief when all I saw was my reflection and nothing else. I looked at my shirtless reflection. Years of my service had left me with an extremely well built body, one that I had managed to keep ever since I had been discharged. It wasn't due to body image, but from an ingrained habit of exercise and routine that I had never been able to break. But, if one were too look at me as I am now, their eyes wouldn't focus my build. No, they would be drawn to the large array of scars the littered my chest. Some, I had received during combat, but most were from the IED that had ended my career. I turned around, the even more prominent array of scars that covered my back came into view. That was where I had taken most of the shrapnel, to which I was lucky not to have penetrate anything serious. To be honest, the most luck I had received was keeping all my limbs. I’d seen people’s legs blown clean off their body and arms torn from their sockets as a result of these explosions. I shook my head, then turned away from the mirror and exited the bathroom, heading straight into my bedroom. I didn't even bother to remove my pants as I flopped onto my bed and pulled my blankets around me. My heart pounded, my mind buzzed—my brain was more awake than ever and I knew it would be hours before I could fall asleep. I guess it was just another one of those nights...